Last week we had the 'adventure' of moving from our two bedroom apartment to a house.... which might have been fun.
MIGHT have been fun. Large, dramatic emphasis on MIGHT have been.
You see, it had fun potential, if only our moving dates matched. Instead, we were out of our apartment on Friday morning, and scheduled to move in the following Monday afternoon.
I worried. I feared my little son would be vulnerable to anxiety about leaving behind the only home he remembered. I worried that dragging him across the Salish Sea to Grammy's house would create trauma when we came 'home' on Monday to a new house where nothing smelled or seemed familiar and all his worldly possessions were piled up in boxes.
I bit my nails for nothing. We spent mother's day weekend careening around Grammy's house, stuffing our faces with leftover Easter chocolate, and visiting cousins and playing with kids of all ages and sizes.
We went to parks and played in the yard and talked about our "new house" and all the fun we'd be having in it.
In the end, all I needed to do to assure my son that he was safe was show him the backyard. "YAY MOMMY! PUDDLES!" He was instantly at home in the mud.
Soon enough, he stripped himself nude and hopped in the tub. He ran out the front door and played happily in the carport. (Thankfully he'd been redressed before the public outing.) He had immediately claimed this house as his own. Infact, this morning, he announced that he and his four foot tall stuffed bunnny would be getting married and moving into the master bedroom.
Um, I'm glad you like the house, son, but you are not marrying a stuffed bunny and evicting your parents. At least, not while you're three years old and still wearing footed pajamas.
Four days in, he still hadn't asked about our old apartment. Not once. I tempted fate this morning and said casually over breakfast "So Noah, do you like this house? Do you miss our old place?"
He chewed on his scrambled eggs for a minute before replying. "Nuh-uh. Scooby Doo likes this house! A-wooooooooooooo!" Well, if it's good enough for Scooby, it must be good enough for Noah.
And that is GREAT news for this nervous Mommy.